


Kinder Cointreau

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Airports, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Drunken Kissing, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Imported, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a birthday present for my sweet Caroline ^^</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinder Cointreau

There is absolutely no reason for “it” to be a problem, Kurt reasons.

He’s 22 years-old, and he’s just bringing back a little souvenir from Europe.

So what if his idea of a souvenir is a fine bottle of orange zest liquor? What does it matter to the fine men, women and whateverelse watching over Customs?

Of course, being an honest, trusty idiot, Kurt wrote it down on his Custom declaration.

And [naturally](http://www.cbp.gov/travel/international-visitors/kbyg/customs-duty-info), the bottle exceeds one liter (just a bit, really it’s ridiculous), and now Kurt has to wait.

And wait.

And wait, God this is boring, all he wants to do is go home and but his bottle in a cupboard to take it out whenever the mood for an “adult” chocolate mousse will strike.

In his misfortune, Kurt is not alone waiting in line at customs.

There is a young woman with stunning blue eyes, who is trying to explain–she has kind of a European accent but Kurt is too tired to place it–that she needs to catch her plane for San José, and that okay maybe she brought some foie gras with her but it’s just a teeny tiny piece, please, plea-ease …

And they let her go, dammit.

Kurt needs to work on his puppy eyes.

There is also an old lady that is petting … what looks like a [snake wearing a birthday hat](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/f3/fa/2f/f3fa2fb6693b7b7dc7c0a6b4831711db.jpg), what the actual Hell.

Taking a step back to stay away from the “pet”, Kurt bumps into someone who has joined them in this Dantesque ring of Hell that is Custom.

“I’m so sorry,” he starts before turning to look at his companion in misery.

_He-llo._

“No problem,” the adorable, gorgeous man–and seriously, if he’s in line, it means that he comes from a transatlantic flight, and he has no right looking so good–replies, a small smile on his face as he reaches to keep Kurt from falling backwards. “No harm done.”

_My heart, down that line._

“What did they get you in for?” Kurt asks conspiratorially.

He is slightly jetlagged, alright?

The man’s smile widens, and he huffs a laugh. “The dogs got me.”

Oh no, Kurt can’t fall in love with a drug dealer.

He has seen “Orange Is The New Black”, he will not do well in prison.

Something of his train of thoughts must show on his face, because the man’s smile disappears from his face and he opens wide eyes. “Not–not drugs!” he exclaims, before clearing his throat in embarrassment when some heads turn towards them. “I didn’t bring drugs back from Europe,” he continues, voice lowered down, “I just brought back some  _candy_ from Amsterdam.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything.

“I swear, I didn’t bring marijuana from Amsterdam!”

Still nothing, because really, seeing a gorgeous man digging a hole for himself in the ground is far too amusing.

“I’m only making it worse, aren’t I?”

Kurt can’t resist anymore, and he lets out the laughter that has been bubbling in his gut.

“What kind of treats did you bring back from the good Netherlands?” he asks when the man himself chuckles along.

And what a nice sound it is.

“Kinder Eggs.”

“Gesundheit.”

Another chuckle, lighter and if Kurt dared, he would call it a giggle.

Adorable.

“The chocolate eggs?” the man explains, making a circular motion with his hand that is entirely unhelpful. “The ones with toys inside a plastic container? I forgot to keep up with their ridiculous list,” he adds with a pout, and seriously, Kurt could kiss it better.

Before he can make an offer or just add to the conversation, a Custom officer walks closer. “Mr. Hummel?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he replies, spinning on his heels to face the officer.

“We only have two solutions for your bottle of alcohol,” the man says, and there is a twinkle in his brown eyes that Kurt doesn’t like.

Not one bit.

“You can either leave it to us to destroy,” and Kurt can already picture all the customs officers drinking themselves to death with his precious alcohol, “or drink it now. But you won’t pass that door with that bottle.”

Kurt’s jaw reaches for the floor, and his Kinder eggs friend pats his back in comfort.

It’s 7.04.

In the morning.

And they expect him to drink the whole … 1 liter and 25 centiliters of Cointreau.

But Kurt will be damned if he lets his bottle to those … those–Neanderthals, and he snatches the bottle and the plastic cup the man brought with him.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says with a snarl, and the man only smirks at them. 

“And the same goes for you, Mr. Anderson,” he says on his way back to a desk, or wherever he wants, leaving five boxes marked in red.

Kurt looks at the bottle and well, it is 1 p.m. in France, after all.

And it must be 5 o’clock somewhere, as the adage goes.

“Do chocolate eggs go well with Cointreau, Mr. Anderson?” he asks his new friend who pulls the boxes towards him.

“Only one way to find out, Mr. Hummel.”

—

As it turns out, chocolate and Cointreau are delicious together.

Okay, so maybe at some point they use the empty chocolate eggs to pour the Cointreau in it.

Just maybe.

But they do so only after offering some of the liquor to their fellow “held in customs” people–yes, even Tatyana and even Chacha.

Yes, the snake took a sip of Cointreau, so sue them.

As alcohol slowly replaces blood in their veins, Kurt feels a lot less stressed about being a klutz in front of Blaine.

That’s Mr. Anderson’s first name, and it fits him like a glove.

You know what else fits him like a glove?

His pants.

They are sinful, and Kurt feels like Blaine should know it, so he tells him so.

Blaine blushes–or maybe it’s the shot of Kinder Cointreau he just took–before smiling proudly. “They really do fit me well, don’t they,” he comments, turning his back on Kurt and looking over his shoulders at his ass.

 _What an ass_ –pun completely intended and deserved.

“That’s quite the badunkadunk you have, mister Anderson,” Kurt says, hiccuping at the end of his sentence.

“Why, thank you, mister Hummel. Wanna see how it fits in your hand?”

That clears parts of Kurt’s mind–but dulls some others. “Seriously?”

Blaine definitely flushes. “I mean, I would have normally asked you on a date, and then maybe kiss you and gently touched your arms and back and legs and–”

“Wanna make out now, and make plans for romance later?”

“… yeah, let’s do that.”

Luckily, being held in customs doesn’t mean that they don’t have access to a restroom, and under Tatyana’s cackles, they both walk as fast as possible without running to get in a stall.

The space is quite confined, but Kurt is not about to complain, and neither is Blaine.

And even if he was, Kurt’s tongue down his throat would have silenced him.

Kurt’s hands cannot reach for Blaine’s ass fast enough, fingers kneading the soft (but not too soft, God forbid, no, it’s just perfect, yielding to Kurt’s touch and bouncy when he lightly smacks it) flesh that was so tempting mere minutes before.

The thing is, even through the haze of alcohol and lust that has taken over his brain cells, Kurt has a feeling, nagging at him.

A feeling that he won’t be able to say goodbye to Blaine,  when the time comes.

But for now, he focuses on the sensation of Blaine’s body against him, and the spikes of arousal that send more blood to his cock.

“I want … I want–” Blaine pants in his mouth, his own hands drawing nonsensical patterns on Kurt’s back.

“What do you want,“ Kurt says softly, brushing drops of sweat from Blaine’s brow with his thumb and sucking it between his lips. "Tell me and you can have it.”

Blaine’s eyes are wide and dark as he whines, dropping his head against Kurt’s shoulder. “I want to touch you, Kurt.”

“You are touching me,” Kurt says, confused. 

One of Blaine’s hands drops to his belt. “Touch you, Kurt.”

 _Oh_.

“By all means,” Kurt stammers, the back of his head hitting the door of the cubicle when Blaine deftly opens his belt and pants, but a loud moan comes out of his mouth the moment Blaine brushes his fingertips down his length.

“Oh shit, Kurt,” Blaine whispers, dazedly. “We have to be quiet!”

“Make me,” Kurt retorts, closing his eyes.

“I’ll  _make_ you just fine,” Blaine growls before pulling Kurt into a searing kiss,  swallowing Kurt’s second moan as he wraps his hand around Kurt’s cock.

The kiss quickly turns into an approximation of a kiss, brushed lips and exchanged puffs of breath panted into each other’s mouth, Blaine only reclaiming Kurt’s lips when a sound starts building in Kurt’s throat.

Kurt comes far too soon for his liking–as far as he is concerned, he would love to have Blaine taking care of his cock for all eternity.

But far from dulling his senses, the combined sleepiness and alcohol seem to only increase his sensitivity to Blaine’s touch–or maybe it’s just Blaine.

Blaine kisses him like he’s trying to bring him back to life,  neatly muting his cry of release.

Kurt puts his hand on Blaine’s wrist to stop him and Blaine pulls away softly, taking a wad of toilet paper to clean his hand and Kurt. There is a soft smile on his lips, but his eyes are still dark and hooded, and Kurt can feel his own cock valiantly twitching in his pants–or attempting to anyway–as he feels Blaine’s erection against his thigh.

“Blaine ?”

“Y-yeah ?”

“May I please return the favor?”

His father would be so proud of his manners.

Or maybe not.

“By all means,” Blaine whispers, and Kurt has to kiss him, gently, to keep himself from swooning.

Kurt just pops open Blaine’s pants, not stretching it too long before his fingers are wrapped around Blaine’s cock.

His hot, hard, soft, slightly curved cock.

Kurt can feel his mouth watering and as he moves his hand, stroking and pulling and twisting, he leans forward to whisper directly in Blaine’s ear. “I’m gonna make you come now, and then I will make you come again,” and there is a not so small part of his brain, the one that keeps his teenage self alive, that is shocked by his brazen behavior. “I want to finish that bottle of Cointreau and suck your cock for flavoring.”

Blaine whines, rocking his hips against Kurt’s hand as his hands return to Kurt’s shoulders and back for support–or to gain more contact, Kurt can be sure.

It’s a heady feeling, to see that man, who looked so confident and hot just a minute ago, parting at the seams, all because of him.

Kurt is the one tearing Blaine apart with his hand and his words, he’s the one who made him wine and pant and beg for more … more something, and Kurt is quickly getting addicted to that feeling.

Kurt kisses Blaine as he feels his cock twitching in his hand, just in time to smother his yelling, and he smiles into it, tongue soothing Blaine’s as he pumps the last drops out of him.

Reciprocating the attention shown by Blaine, Kurt is mindful to make sure that he cleans him afterwards, and they both lean against facing walls of the stall to smile at each other, slightly out of breath and enjoying the glow of a good, unexpected orgasm.

“Hey,” Blaine says softly, hand lifted between them.

Kurt takes it without a second thought. “Hey.”

“Just so you know,” Blaine says, moving away from the wall, “I do want to taste you too.”

“Oh?”

“Just … not just your cock.”

“Oh?!”

Blaine’s smile turns into a smirk, and if he had not just seen the look on Blaine’s face when he comes, Kurt would consider that smirk the hottest thing he had ever seen.

“I definitely want to … get drunk on your ass.”

“Oh my God.”

“But before that,” Blaine continues, tilting his head and just like that, he’s all innocence and dapper charm once again, “I really do want to take you on proper dates.”

Kurt feels like his face is going to split in two. “Well now that i’ve got you,” he replies, pecking Blaine’s lips before opening the stall’s door, “I’m not letting you go so easily.”

Blaine follows him and stays silent as they wash their hands.

“It’s the chocolate, isn’t it?” he finally asks with a crooked smile, and Kurt cannot kiss it fast enough.

Total disclosure: it’s partly the chocolate.

But really, Kurt is more fond of the surprise he found thanks to them.


End file.
